


Kirkwall Vice

by OrilliaOrange



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6827587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrilliaOrange/pseuds/OrilliaOrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spate of murders coincide with the most brutal heatwave in Kirkwall’s history. Special Agent Cassandra Pentaghast arrives in the city with orders to aid the investigation…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Kirkwall is sweltering hot in the summer. Sweat drips down Cassandra's neck, itches at the base of her spine. Even in the airport there is no respite. Humidity hangs in the air like fog. 

"Air con is busted," a sodden clerk had explained. "City's been having rolling blackouts."

Cassandra fans herself with a limp copy of the local paper. More a tabloid than anything else, its bold black headlines gleeful in their description of the most recent murder. The cheap ink smears on her hands. 

The breeze is no help, warm and stinking of the Waking Sea. It wafts in from the airport’s open doors, adding a faint odour of fish to the tang of sweat thick in the arrivals gate.

Luggage swirls around the carousel, diffident and sweaty fellow travellers watching dispassionately for their suitcases.

Cassandra stares intently at the passing luggage, hoping to see her suitcase appear. Her outfit had been chosen with the cooler climate of Haven in mind, not Kirkwall's dense heat. Not that she could've anticipated her arrival would coincide with the city's longest hot spell. Catching sight of her familiar burgundy suitcase, Cassandra’s shoulders sag with relief.

“Thank the Maker,” she murmurs.

Now at least she might depart the airport for her hotel, and a cold shower. Perhaps there will be time before her meeting to purchase more appropriate clothing. Cassandra’s linen trousers stick to her legs, her soft shirt clinging in wet patches to her skin. It is uncomfortable in the extreme. Less uncomfortable than the sexist remarks looser clothing might engender. There are times, Cassandra reflects, when being a woman in law enforcement is a hassle.

At the curb, a uniformed officer waits in his car, windows rolled down. 

“Agent Pentaghast?” he says, though it’s really not a question. 

Sweat sheens his face, and Cassandra sighs. 

“Your car isn’t air conditioned?” she asks. 

She already knows the answer. The officer looks like he’s taken a swim. Even his sideburns look wilted.

“She’s an older model,” the officer says, mixed with regret and fondness. “Sergeant Hendyr, ma’am.” 

“It’s a pleasure,” Cassandra says. “I take it you aren’t here to deliver me to the hotel?”

Hendyr shakes his head. “‘Fraid not, ma’am. There’s been another one. Captain Vallen will brief you at the scene.” 

Cassandra opens the passenger side door, wincing at the wave of heat that pulses outwards. 

“Let us go,” she says.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra arrives at the crime scene

Sergeant Hendyr doesn’t take the scenic route to the crime scene, for which Cassandra is grateful. Not that Kirkwall has anything like a scenic route. The city is a brutalist monstrosity, built only for blunt practicality. Outside her window is a blur of grey and brown, with the bare minimum of life. That, at least, can be chalked up to the oppressive heat. No one is outside who can avoid it. The few people who are outside look resigned to their lot. One or two clusters of young people nestle in shadowed porches, upbeat music blaring joyfully out from a clunky portable radio.

“The city has not changed much,” Cassandra remarks. 

Her back sticks to the leather seat of the squad car. Even the wind, blowing through the open window, is hot and gritty.

Hendyr shrugs his shoulders. “Cities don’t change much, ma’am.” 

Cassandra watches as the dreariness of Lowtown transitions into the opulent beauty of Hightown proper. The distinction is jarring. All that separates the city’s two halves is a band a few blocks wide where some Lowtown businesses are thriving from their proximity to wealth. Here there are more cars, the roads are well kept, and a few daring souls sit out on patios sipping cool drinks or eating ice cream. Women in lightly patterned flowing dresses and chunky heeled shoes saunter down the sidewalk, contriving to float somehow despite the smothering heat. A peaceful summer’s day in a city plagued by a murderer. 

“Where was the most recent body found?” Cassandra asks. 

“We had the call about twenty minutes prior to your flight arriving,” Hendyr says. “Everyone’s still on site in the field outside the city.” 

Cassandra taps the hard shell of her briefcase with her fingernails. 

“It is the first outside the city walls,” she says. “Why does Captain Vallen believe it is the same killer?”

Hendyr’s radio squawks and burbles. Nothing urgent, or so it sounds. Even the criminal element is taking a break from the heat. 

“Victim matches the previous vics; petite brunette elf from the alienage. Missing for a couple days before anyone bothered to call us,” he says. “Guy who found her was walking his mabari at the time.” 

Cassandra winces. “The dog didn’t…?” 

“Nah, no worries on that count,” Hendyr says. They share a relieved look. 

“Go on,” Cassandra says. “What else do you know?” 

The road they’re on twists down to a gate, one of the few that hadn’t been widened or eliminated in the name of progress. Two officers stand at attention there, miserable in their dark uniforms. Bright yellow tape cordons off the road leading out of the city. Hendyr rolls his window down as they slow to a stop in front of the tape. 

“Sergeant Hendyr,” he says. “And Agent Pentaghast.” 

The two guards peer into the car and give a cursory glance at the ID Cassandra presents. 

“Ma’am,” the senior looking officer says. He stands back from the car while his companion unfurls the tape blocking their path. 

Cassandra jerks her chin down in a small nod of acknowledgement. Hendyr guides the car through the gate. In the rearview mirror, the officers on duty reaffix the police tape. A neon green car draws up to tape line. The driver gestures out the window. Neither officer moves. Cassandra’s car turns the corner and the gate disappears from view. It is too hot to be amused at the audacity of the other car’s driver, trying no doubt to be let through the forbidden portal. The rich always expect such concessions to be made for them, Cassandra thinks. Any problem might be erased when presented with the correct sum. 

Disdain curls her lips. 

The car clears the copse of trees to reveal a hive of activity. Several police cars, marked and unmarked, along with the forensics van block the road. An irritated officer in her cap and skirt waves her hand. 

“Do they still have to wear those?” Cassandra asks. The small cap looks more like a nurse’s cap than something belonging on a police officer. 

Hendyr rolls his eyes. The female officer moves out of the way. 

“Brass’re old fashioned still,” he says. “We’re the only force with a different uniform for the female officers. Drives Avel- Captain Vallen up the wall.” 

Cassandra notes the little slip of the tongue, and the way the sergeant’s cheeks flush. Since either the slip or the blush could be attributed to the weather, she lets it go. A harried looking redhead in a suit draws up to the car before it stops. 

“Captain Vallen,” Cassandra says, once the car’s stopped and she can peel herself off the seat. 

“Agent Pentaghast,” Aveline says, extending one gloved hand. 

They both look at her blue gloved digits. Aveline drags her hand back and peels off the glove. She wipes her hand on the fabric of her slacks before offering it again. They shake hands briskly. Aveline plucks another set of gloves from the clump sticking out of her pocket. Wordlessly, Cassandra accepts the second pair Aveline offers, and they set off across the field to where several officers stand like scarecrows. 

“What do you know?” Cassandra asks. 

They trample through the long grasses, the air alive with the sound of buzzing insects. 

“Some attempt at burial,” Aveline says. “Only a couple feet down. Possible defensive wounds on her arms, right now we’re attributing cause of death to her throat being slit. Ear to ear, Cassandra. The bastard almost cut her head right off.” 

Cassandra bats a young tree out of her way. 

“You are sure it is the same killer?” she asks. 

Aveline looks around her, a cursory glance through the mostly empty field. 

“She’s got the brand, over her heart,” she says, laying her right hand over her breast. “A howling wolf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filled for the Fic a Day in May challenge! Eventual Cassandra/Varric, Aveline/Donnic, I swear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eventually there will be vice. Varric and his car don't count.

“We walked the scene before you got here,” Aveline says, guiding Cassandra along a path beaten through the grass. “Didn’t find a damn thing. No blood. No signs of a struggle. Just the body, and the sort of junk you’d expect- pop cans and cigarette butts. Everything that can be bagged is being bagged.” 

Cassandra nods. “Just in case?” 

“Exactly,” Aveline says. 

They draw up to the crime scene proper, where a second cordon is being guarded by a green officer. 

“Captain Aveline Vallen,” Aveline says, showing the officer her identification.

“Cassandra Pentahgast, Special Agent liaising with Kirkwall P.D,” Cassandra says, backed up by her badge. 

The officer nods them through, entering their names, the date, and the time with great care in a reporter’s notebook.

A camera’s flash blinds them all. 

“Pictures of the victim, not us, Percy!” Aveline scolds. 

The young woman behind the camera grins. “Posterity, ma’am. Done with the crime scene pics for now anyways. Boys’ve got their measuring tapes out.” 

Cassandra pulls her gloves on. Two men crouch in the grass, taking measurements, moving carefully to avoid disturbing anything. 

“Take one more shot here, Perce,” one of the men says. “Should do it.” 

The other stands, cracks his back. 

“Captain, ma’am,” he says. 

“Trevelyan,” Aveline says, giving him a short nod. “Special Agent Pentaghast, here to help with the case.” 

“Pleasure,” Trevelyan replies, with a wry grin. “I’m the city coroner’s deputy. Doc de Fer is tied up across town. Captain, there’s not a helluva lot here. Aside from getting bugs for the bug guys, there’s not much else left to do.” 

“May I?” Cassandra asks, gesturing to the pale shape hidden by a tarp.

The young woman lay splayed in the grass, as though dropped from a careless hand from a great height. Her pale skin was waxy, marred with raw red strips and swollen black around her eyes. Dirt and blood coat her face, choke the wound in her throat. 

Aveline scowls. 

“Most of the victims so far have been from the alienages,” Aveline says.

The girl’s pointed ears are pierced. Blood clots in the delicate hoops and chains. Cassandra pulls the tarp down to the girl’s midsection. Blood soaks the girl’s front, flaky and brown-black. Over her heart, a wolf’s head brand howls. Flaps of sliced skin sag off her thin arms. There is nothing, barring the rings in her ears, to give them any clue. 

“The last two weren’t naked,” Cassandra remarks. 

Flies and insects buzz through the still air. Cassandra swats a bloated bug out of her face. Black dots crawl over the girl’s flesh, crowding the gash that had come close to separating her head from her body. She looks singularly pitiful, lying in the dry grass and dirt. 

“The killer didn't try to bury her,” Cassandra says. “They barely bothered to dig a grave at all.”

Aveline nods. Limp red hair clings to her forehead. A man in a wilting suit draws up to her side. He grants the corpse a cursory glance. 

“We’re gonna need to move her soon,” he says. “In this heat, things are going to get messy pretty quick.”

“They’re already messy,” Aveline remarks. “But I get the idea.”

Cassandra squats, careful not to kneel on anything. 

“The area’s dry,” she says. “No blood. So she was killed, then brought here from wherever, and left.” 

The city wall looms up in front of them, hazy through the thick air. 

“So close to the city,” Aveline murmurs.

Cassandra furrowed her brow, thinking.

“It's possible,” Aveline says, squinting at something on the horizon.

Cassandra catches an impression of bright fast moving colour. A car? She frowns. 

The ghoul behind her clears his throat. 

Cassandra looks up at Aveline. 

“The bugs suggest she's been here a while, but it's so hot, and humid…” She frowns. “The man with the dog…”

“We’re holding him for questioning,” Aveline replied. “The guards recognize him, say he walks his mabari every morning.” 

“We won’t know more until we get the autopsy going,” Trevelyan pipes up. 

Cassandra waves the coroner forwards, standing up and away from the body. Her hands swim in the clinging plastic of her gloves. Her suit sticks to her body. Sweat soaks into her bra, pooling under the band. Cassandra rolls her shoulders, trying to ease the irritation. A thin breeze struggles to move the air, and only stirs up the scent of corpse, and heat. The buzzing of insects rises to an intolerable pitch, amplifying the discomfort of the gathered cops and emergency personnel. The uniformed officers look half dead themselves, faces blotchy from the heat. 

“Is this usual, for Kirkwall?” Cassandra asks. 

Aveline grimaces. “No, we haven’t had a heatwave this bad in decades. The whole city’s sweating.”

Trevelyan and his assistant began transferring the decedent into a body bag. A new stench rose up into the dry air. Everyone present gagged, and Cassandra took an unconscious step back. 

Someone shouts, at the first perimeter. 

“What-” Cassandra turned, standing on her toes to peer across the field. 

“Shit,” Aveline growls, collecting Cassandra with a look as she stalks away. 

Closer to the first perimeter, the hubbub resolves itself into a dwarf lounging against a loud car, the colour of acid and green apples. Two of the officers are bent double with laughter. The third snaps to attention the moment Aveline and Cassandra emerge from the field. 

“So no shit, she turns to me and says-” the dwarf cuts his story short, as his audience shrivel in on themselves. 

It is, despite the colour, a _nice_ car. A Duster, if Cassandra’s right. 

Cassandra’s first impression of the man is _loud._ It describes him perfectly, from the neon car to the man’s bright patterned shirt, which manages to clash not only with itself, but the car. There’s an impressive amount of chest and chest hair on display. Cassandra flicks her wandering gaze back up to the man’s face, cataloguing his features out of habit. Red-blonde hair going grey, brown eyes, broken nose, five o’clock shadow. Her eyes drop down to the man’s chest again. When she looks back at his face, warm brown eyes meet hers, alive with humour and sharp intelligence, above the gaudy facade.

“Varric,” Aveline sighs, with what sounds to Cassandra like fondness. “You’ve got a gift for being where you shouldn’t be.” 

Varric offers a grin that is far too cool for the sweltering weather. 

“I’m a crime scene reporter, Captain. Being here is in my job description.” 

“Alongside being a pain in the ass?” Aveline says. “Or does that only apply when you’re shadowing my crime scenes as a P.I?”

“Nah, you just bring out the best in me,” Varric says.

Cassandra scoffs. 

“Special Agent Pentaghast!” Varric says, as if they’ve been friends for years beyond measure. “This is a surprise. Does your being here mean the Divine’s office is taking an interest in our fair city?”

Aveline raises her eyes to the heavens. 

“I would not call it fair,” Cassandra says dryly. “Considering what necessitated my presence.” 

Varric smirks up at her. 

“You are going to leave my officers alone, Varric,” Aveline admonishes. 

“Is that an order?” Varric asks. 

“It is,” Aveline says. 

Something flickers across Varric’s face. Disappointment, perhaps. 

“Agent Pentaghast isn’t one of yours,” he points out, brightening. 

Aveline looks at him, then Cassandra’s furrowed brows. 

“She’s not,” Aveline says. “I’d try my luck elsewhere, if I were you.” 

Varric turns his full attention to Cassandra for the first time in the entire exchange. His eyes scan her, from the crown of her head to the toes of her shoes. Cassandra stands straighter, her shoulders back and her chin tilted at a mulish angle. Let him try what he will. 

“Fortune pisses on me once again,” Varric sighs. He looks terribly contrite and harmless.

There’s a touch of mischief in his eyes. Cassandra doesn’t trust him in the least. Nor does Aveline, it seems. 

“You’ll have bigger problems than that,” Aveline warns. “Shoo, Varric.”

“Was that a threat, Captain?” Varric asks, smiling. 

“A warning,” Aveline says. “I may have to appeal to a higher power, otherwise.” 

It’s clear from her tone that there’s no bite to this, but Cassandra favours Varric with a forbidding look, nonetheless. 

“I hear you get your sense of humour surgically removed when you become a special agent for the Divine,” Varric says. 

“It’s standard along with the suits,” Cassandra deadpans. 

Varric flashes a smile at her. 

Cassandra schools her features into blankness. 

Varric sighs, his shoulders slumping in an exaggerated display of disappointment. He shoves himself away from the side of his car, and crosses to the driver’s side. The car starts with a rumble that reminds Cassandra of its owner’s voice. Varric offers them all a jaunty wave. He and his radioactive vehicle streak down the lane. 

“He’s going the wrong way,” Cassandra remarks. 

Aveline frowns ferociously. “He’s going to- dammit, Varric…” 

The little Duster’s back end fishtails. Cassandra’s heart stops in her chest before she realizes what the little shit’s doing. The acid green car glows in the light. 

“A bootlegger’s turn,” Cassandra says. Tries to sound more disapproving than she feels. 

“The little shit,” Aveline growls, as Varric’s car tears past them going the right way. 

“He _waved,_ ” Cassandra says with disgust. 

Aveline glares after the car. It disappears behind the first turn, engine roaring. One of the officers whistles appreciation. 

The little lane is choked with the dust from Varric’s dramatic exit. Cassandra sputters, and wipes the grit from her sticky face. 

“Ma’am,” Trevelyan says, appearing at Aveline’s elbow. “We’re ready to head into the city.” 

Cassandra bites back a smile, relief glowing brighter than Varric’s car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Fic a Day in May Challenge!

**Author's Note:**

> Begun for the Fic a Day in May challenge!


End file.
